A Fortunate Coincidence
by VonPelt
Summary: Maege Mormont sent word of Robb's will north to her daughter Lyra, who leaves to fetch Jon from the Night's Watch. Things get complicated from thereon.
1. Chapter 1

Snow covered the hills as far as Jon could see and dominated the barren lands of the Gift as a harsh wind swept over the land. Trees were sparse, with the exception of a single forest that provided them cover from the watchers of Castle Black. To avoid detection by the Night's Watch, Jon's group of Wildlings had crossed more than fifty miles from the next manned post at the Wall and was now making for the poor excuse of a keep, wandering through deep snow. And with each step they took, his heart grew heavier.

"_You are mine as I am yours. I don't know the kneeler way, but up here we share our burdens."_

"_You are mine and I am yours."_

Jon still was not sure what possessed him to say these words after Ygritte lamented his latest brooding streak, but he said them nonetheless. They might have been man and wife by free folk custom before, but a vow in front of the Gods was something more tangible, something all Northerners would understand. No matter if out of melancholy or some deeply buried desire for wife and holdfast, he had said them. And due to the fact that weirwood trees were incredibly common north of the Wall, he happened to say these words in front of an old heart tree, belonging to a long-abandoned hamlet whose name was lost in time. _Leave it to the Bastard of Winterfell to accidentally exchange marital vows with someone who does not care about marriage as I know it. _

The other circumstances did not count, as long as there was no coercion, they were married in the eyes of the Old Gods, something no man could change. His own father ruled that way, even when he was clearly uncomfortable by the union of Lord Cerwin's second son and a miller's daughter who had been brought before him a couple of years ago. A vow made in front of the gods was a vow made in front of the gods, no matter how little men liked it.

Being married to Ygritte, a woman he grew to love fiercely during the past moons, was not really a problem. She made him feel warm and safe even if they were running from the army of the dead. Theon would make fun of him and his wife, of her crooked teeth and her pug nose, but Jon did not care. If anything, the unpolished edges added to Ygritte's charm, at least as far as he was concerned. And he knew that Arya would love Ygritte. In some ways, his wife was everything his little sister wanted to be. Independent, strong, showing complete disregard for manners, not wearing dresses - Come to think of it, the little wolf wanted to be a spearwife, that or a Dornish warrior queen.

And then it hit him like a giant's club. Arya was missing somewhere between King's Landing and the Wall with almost no hope of making it back home unharmed. His father had been beheaded by that idiot Sansa had swooned over and his brother had marched south, waging war against people who had been hailed as masterminds long before Robb's parents had met.

But perhaps the biggest challenge was his wife's future. He knew that it was a husband's duty to protect his spouse, even if it meant forfeiting his own life. That was a price he was willing to pay, but his death at Castle Black would not guarantee Ygritte's life. He still had found no good solution for this problem, his current plan involved him trying to get to Watch before his wife and to negotiate on her behalf. Jon had no desire to ever leave Ygritte, but the Lord Commander would not tolerate a married brother. Yet strangely, no one would raise an eyebrow if he was fucking a whore in Mole's Town.

Vows were a difficult thing. Yes, he swore to be a brother of the Night's Watch. _But didn't he also gave Robb his word to always be at his side? Which one to follow, the oldest or the latest, the most convenient or the most unpleasant? Did he not promise Arya to see her again, had his father not made a similar promise? Was he not bound by blood to help any Stark? Could one vow free him from another? _

His thoughts were interrupted by a pair of strong arms which pulled him backwards. Instinctively he knew that it was Ygritte, even before she started trailing kisses down his neck.

"You know that you were supposed to pick berries under the snow, not think about my teats."

"Why do you say that I was thinking about your - your breasts?"

"All the fondling, suckling, nibbling and kissing, yet you still can't say the word teat. And you had the same look of wonder whenever you look at them."

"You have that wrong. The amazement is due to you Ygritte, not your teats. You are perfect, every single part of you."

"Now you are sweet-talking. If you want to shag just say it, no need for fancy words."

"I mean it. I love you, never doubt that," Jon replied earnestly, trying to make Ygritte understand that, no matter what would happen. The redhead stared at him for a long moment before giving him a unceremonious shove. Once she straddled him, smiling brightly, Jon felt like he passed some test.

"And I love you, even if you are a southron kneeler. You've stolen me that night at the Skirling Pass, you were just too thick to know it back then," Ygritte threw back with a playful shove. His back was in a snowdrift and she quickly joined him, her tongue making him forget their troubles. And her words had lifted some of the weight from his heart. By the customs of her people, they were already married and yet she stuck around.

"I thought you liked what I did with a bent knee."

Her smirk grew wider and Ygritte looked at him like Ghost tracking his prey. The next thing Jon knew was that their tongues and limbs were entangled alike. He couldn't say how much time passed before they broke for air, panting heavily. "What about the berries?"

"Fuck that, if Styr wants sweet fruits then he can pick them himself. I'm not his mother."

* * *

"Are we interrupting something," a new voice chimed in some time later. Jon glanced around her head and found himself looking up towards a tall, smirking woman, not older than himself. Her long, dark hair fell past her shoulders onto a green coat she wore over a shirt of mail. The bear of House Mormont adorned her shield while a bloodied axe and a dagger hung at her hip. A score of men at arms stood behind their leader and most of them were laughing shamelessly. Several of them were covered in blood but they did not look exhausted, as they would after a battle. How could he have missed them?

"Let me deal with them," Jon whispered into Ygritte's ear before untangling himself, getting on one knee and bowing towards the woman in charge.

"Lady Mormont."

"This one is certainly not a wildling, although Lady Mormont is my mother. What's your name boy?"

"Jon Snow, my Lady, and this is Ygritte, of the free folk."

"Well Jon Snow, that's a nice coincidence. As it happens we were looking for a Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark, and brother of his Grace Robb. That has to be you since you look just like your father. We came across a group of Wildlings about a mile from here. Before he died, one of them was quite insistent that we'd find a brother of the Night's Watch somewhere in these hills. We were expecting that you would be a hostage, but it didn't look like you would need rescuing," the Mormont women quipped and her warriors laughed again. "But I am curious, what has happened that we found the son of Ned Stark groping his wildling captor. And the name 's Lyra in case you're wondering."

Jon did his best to explain what he had been through North of the Wall, his mission and everything which has happened since he had joined the Free Folk as well as his tentative plans for a future without bloodshed.

"Can be quite a shocker to learn that they aren't so different, especially if you learn that your sister was fathered by one. Mind you, I'm pretty sure that Lyanna is King Robert's - Anyways, if you want to keep your head, save yourself the trouble and don't go to Castle Black. The grumpy knight there said that they already picked a spike for it. Although he also said that you were dead."

"I was hoping that Lord Commander Mormont would see reason and stop the unnecessary bloodshed."

"My uncle is dead, killed by his own men at a place called Craster's Keep, not more than forty miles from the wall, and Grumpy is acting commander until they elect a new one."

"The Lord Commander is dead?"

"Aye."

"Thorne will never parley with the Free Folk. Thousands will die at the Wall."

"Aye. I've put more than one warband to the sword since my mother and sister went south, but what I've seen north of the Bay of Seals were no warriors seeking to steal a maiden. Whole families, their old, their women, their children. There's no honour slaughtering those."

"What now?" Jon wanted to know after an uncomfortable silence. He was well aware of what happened to deserters and Thorne had already decided his fate.

"Well, as it happens the King is in need of an heir and you got the honour of being chosen. So Jon Snow, or should I say, Crown Prince, what shall we do now?"

"Crown Prince? I can't be Crown Prince, I'm not even a Stark."

"You would not be the first bastard that continued the Stark line, but lucky for you that's a moot point. Your brother changed your name with a Royal Decree. Together with a blanket pardon for your desertion should the Watch not agree to let you go."

"But, why me?"

"Well, your brothers are dead, your older sister was wed to the Imp and the younger one is still missing. You are the last Stark in the North, at least until the King can sire some himself."

"My brothers are gone? But - but they were in Winterfell, a thousand miles from the war."

"You have not heard? His Grace sent Theon Greyjoy to negotiate an alliance with his father. Turncloak betrayed him, sacked Winterfell and put your brothers to the sword. My sisters have been fighting Ironborn scum ever since they sent reavers up the Stony Shore. They even had the balls to take Deepwood Motte," Mormont said grimly and spat.

"Theon? Ironborn? Sacking Winterfell? Bran - and - Rickon?"

Jon fell back into the snow, eyes clenched shut in the vain hope that this was only a nightmare. He felt Ygritte pull his head against her, run fingers through his hair and speak soft words, but at that moment the only thing he knew was anguish. _Why? Had Bran not suffered enough? What had his brother done to deserve such a cruel life?_ But then a different emotion overcame him, burning through his veins like molten steel.

"Is the traitor still alive?"

"I don't know. The last ravens from Winterfell tell an ugly story. The bastard of Bolton took the castle from the Ironborn, but there was little left after it was put to the torch. In return, Greyjoy is enjoying a remainder of House Bolton's words."

"And the rest of the North?"

"The reavers hold Moat Cailin, Torrhen's Square and Deepwood Motte as well as a dozen smaller keeps. The King is riding North, to take back what is his."

"Then I shall help my brother," Jon said with grim determination, with a new purpose while his eyes were still shining. "How many men can be called to arms?"

"Ten thousand, mayhaps fifteen. The mountain clans have been preparing for a year and they want to earn some glory or find a good death before winter takes them. Your father was beloved by many of them, so gathering their warriors should not be difficult. However, they are the only ones who still have their full strength. The Umbers have raised another two thousand while White Harbour is building ships and gathered the same numbers as Last Hearth, but those are green boys and older men. Once the reavers are gone, even more will be free to march for House Stark, as their forefathers did," Lyra summarised with pride.

"What of House Reed and the other Houses in the Neck? I know father spoke very highly about them."

"They are bleeding the Ironborn at Moat Cailin dry, taking out patrols, poisoning supplies and wells as well as starving the defenders. The crannogmen fare poorly in battle, but there are no better hunters in the North."

"What about the Wall?" Ygritte asked, speaking for the first time and all eyes turned onto her. "There are a hundred thousand men, women and children marching on it and what's left of the Crows can't stop Mance. But if he breaks the wall, there is nothing between us and the Others."

"There's little we can do about that for now. The army needs time to gather, the Lords need orders - "

"There has to be something you can do, now that you are chief kneeler."

"The Night's Watch answers to no King. It will take a month before I could raise enough men to threaten them and even then, few of my brother's Bannermen would march to help Wildings, even less so while the North is aflame. They won't fight when their homes are threatened. I will do my best to help your people, but I can only do so after the Ironborn are put to the sword."

"So we let them die? Condemn thousands to die and rise again as wights?"

"The Others have wights, like in the legends? My uncle mentioned them in his last letter but I never thought - I felt the cold winds out on the Bay of Ice but I've yet to see one of _them_. I hoped that Jeor was wrong, that the cold was just my imagination," Mormont whispered, her face gone white. Behind her the men had lost their laughter, looking grim and thoroughly uncomfortable.

"Why do you think a hundred thousand of us are fleeing south? We ain't afraid of snow or Crows, but the dead - And now Mance is at the Wall, with a hundred thousand swords and spears. Thousands will die a pointless death before the Wall will fall."

"The Wall will not fall. Even if Mance has found the Horn of Jorum, he couldn't blow it as it would open the Others a way through the Wall, making his entire journey pointless. And there is nothing stopping Houses Umber and Karstark from putting a thousand men on horses and riding the Wildlings down before they can leave the gift. Even green boys with lances and chainmail would cut through Mance host like a hot knife through butter - "

"What's butter?

"Fat from - It is not important. What I am saying is that Mance must not give battle because even victory would doom him. The Free Folk has no weapons against a charge and cannot form a shield wall. Withstanding heavy horse is nearly impossible with pikes and plate, attempting to do so with bronze and furs would be certain death."

"You said that your brother went to war. Who would be left to fight us?"

"His Grace went south with less than twenty thousand men. The North can easily raise twice that number. I imagine leading the second host will be your first duty, my Prince," Lyra threw in.

"Aye, to throw the Ironborn back into the sea."

"So that's it? You would betray us to the crows, just like that?" Ygritte spat and reached for her knife.

"Fuck the Night's Watch! When news came from the South that that cunt Joffrey had put my father to the sword, I ran off because I wanted to join my brother, rescue my sisters. It took half a dozen of my friends to drag me back, but by first light, I realised that I could do nothing to help my brother because every Northern Lord would have had to take my head," Jon snarled, his anger rising at those memories and his brothers' fate. Had he not taken his vows, he could have gone South with Robb, maybe could have made a difference. "But now, my brother gave me everything I ever wanted, his name, the opportunity to fight for him and House Stark. I always wanted to prove myself to my father, fighting to avenge him is the least I can do."

"So you'll just run off to the South and forget about Mance?"

"I can hardly negotiate with the Watch if they want to put my head on a spike. But, maybe I can send someone to the Wall, to beat some sense into Thorne. Do you know anyone who could do that?" Jon asked the Mormont girl.

"Karsi Umber."

"You would send Lady Umber to negotiate with the Wildlings and the Night's Watch?"

"Aye, her mother was born North of the Wall, one of the few who came south to settle peacefully. And she had proven her worth each time the Greatjon went to war. If anyone can negotiate a settlement, it will be her - although she might decide that the chained giant looks better on top of the wall if Ser Grumpy doesn't see reason," Lyra pointed out, surprisingly gleeful at the thought of ending millennia of tradition.

"Asking her to find a settlement is a tall order - "

"Aye. The late Lord Stark could have done it, or maybe Lord Hornwood, but he fell at the Green Fork. If my uncle was still alive, any of my sisters could have done. But now Lady Umber is your best choice."

"Did one of you kneelers truly marry a daughter of the Free Folk?" Ygritte wanted to know while Jon was thinking about Lyra's suggestion.

"It was quite the scandal actually. Long before my time, but Mother loves to tell that tale. The Greatjon became Lord Umber at four and ten, with his Uncle Halys as regent. Halys made a great announcement and invited everyone to a harvest celebration where he wanted to find a bride for his nephew. The Greatjon though didn't like the prospect of an arranged marriage, so he made one of his childhood friends his wife, a daughter of a wildling even."

"And you kneelers didn't complain?"

"It is difficult to say no to the Greatjon since he is two heads taller than most men," Lyra pointed out dryly.

"What about the girl? Do we tie her up?" one of her men at arms asked, clearly wanting to get moving again instead of talking to a wildling.

"No! She is - is my - my wife."

"My apologies for that, Princess. We will, of course, leave you unbound."

Jon wasn't sure if the Mormont woman was serious, but she didn't miss a beat with her reply. Then again, she had said that one of her sisters had a claim on the Iron Throne and another had been fathered by a wildling. He was, however, certain that Ygritte's jaw would have lost her jaw if it wasn't grown to her head.

* * *

Their journey through the Gift dragged on for two weeks and Jon was very glad that it had been a _Lady_ of House Mormont who had found them. Ygritte had scoffed at the idea of being a princess, but a fortnight with _Lady _Lyra was more than enough to convince her that a "kneeler" wasn't that different from her. They both hunted, fought, wielded weapons and had killed. As long as she would be willing to "cobber a few Lords over the head", they wouldn't bark at the idea of her as a princess any more than they did about Maege becoming Lady Mormont. But the good spirits quickly vanished as nothing could have prepared them for Last Hearth.

* * *

Row upon row of tents filled the fields around the grey walls. It looked like the army was ready to march into battle, yet the mood at the seat of House Umber was dark and oppressive. As soon as they passed the gate, it infected the party and a horrible sense of foreboding swept over Jon. Something terrible has happened, and they had ridden straight into the aftermath. Nonetheless, one of the Mormont men acted as herald and announced them as the party of Crown Prince Jon Stark, son of Eddard Stark.

"Stark?"

There was a moment of confused silence before a roar swept through the courtyard of the old fortress.

"Stark!"

"The King in the North!"

"Stark!"

"For Winterfell!"

"Stark!"

Before Jon knew what has happened, everyone dropped on their knee. Swords were raised, he was hailed King, oaths were given and people toasted to his health while he was washed along with the tide, feeling colder and number than during his stay in the Ice Cell or high up in the Frostfangs. There was a feast and lots of mead, but he hardly touched it. Lyra, whose mother and sister were presumed butchered, gave him a pained look and ended the feast much earlier than it would have otherwise been acceptable, postponing the war council.

Only when he and Ygritte were alone in their room, he allowed the mask to shatter. Clutching his wife tightly, he didn't stop the emotions he had been suppressing for so long. The death of his father, of Robb, of Bran and Rickon and even his new duties. Bottled up for far too long, there was no stopping once the dam broke. She tried her best to comfort him, but there was little she could do to bring back the dead. Which left Ygritte with holding him, running her fingers through his hair and whispering soothing words. Jon wasn't sure how long he cried, but in the end, he was utterly spent and wished that he had a drink at hand to dull the pain.

"What do I do now?" he whispered hoarsely as the enormity of his new life dawned on him.

"They kneeled to you, they gave you their swords and made you their King. Use that!"

"I never wanted this. I had dreamed of getting my father's name, of sharing a name with my brother for as long as I can remember, but never like this. I wanted a castle for myself, but never his, never over his dead body."

"And I never wanted to be a prisoner in some fancy castle, yet here I am."

"You are no prisoner, you are my wife - _the_ Queen."

"You're mad if you think that I could be a Queen - "

"Why not? The last two were the reason half of the Northern Lords were - " Jon could not finish the sentence and dropped back onto Ygritte, burying his head in the crook of her neck again. "I need you. They expect me to lead the entire North, but I can't do this alone."

"The most I've ever led were four hunters!"

"You always tell me that I know nothing, and in this case, you would be right. I know nothing about being King. And neither did my father, or his father. There hasn't been a King in the North since Torrhen Stark some three hundred years ago. And in the South, there was my father's friend who preferred to whore and drink, yet still was better than the Mad one whom he usurped. I know that I can be a better ruler than them, but I need someone who will tell me if I'm being an idiot. Someone I can lean on. Winter is upon us and you know it better than anyone south of the Wall."

"I didn't think that I'd ever see a castle, much less rule one, but the Gods are funny like that," Ygritte mumbled into his hair after a long pause. "I'll help you with your kneelers, but don't expect me to like it."

"I wouldn't dream of it, _your grace_!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Dire news from the North, your Grace," the Master of Whispers announced, although he wasn't addressing the King as much as his grandfather. "It seems as if the Young Wolf did name his baseborn brother as heir before his demise, and that Ned Stark's bastard took up his brother's crown to avenge what the realm started to call the Red Wedding. He is gathering a force from their mountain clans and his northernmost Lords."

"The boy took the black, did he not?" Tywin Lannister asked in an almost bored tone, not even looking up from the letter he was reading.

"Yes, he did. We received word from Castle Black that one Jon Snow was considered an oathbreaker, together with thirteen other men," Varys explained. "At that time it was of no importance, but - "

"Then he sealed his own fate. No Lord would follow a man whose word is meaningless. Send a few ravens north and hopefully, their foolish Lords will find their wits again if offered a reward. And a reminder that we hold their lords and heirs as hostages."

"You would pay them? Why should they get even a single copper from me?" the King snarled and Tywin sighed, slowly putting his letter down.

"A knife in the dark is cheaper than an invasion. And with any luck, the Northmen will begin to kill each other afterwards, wasting their strength even more."

* * *

Ygritte looked at the group surrounding her, and then back at their prey. A pair of outriders, struggling to find a path through the snowdrifts. The camp of the Bolton host lit up the entire valley in a dull glow, its countless campfires making it easier to stalk their unfortunate scouts.

It was strange that these men were following her, not even due to her parents as kneelers did, but because of whom she had wed. Marriage was already a weird idea, but not that different from how things were done north of the Wall once the ceremony was over. But her scouts were following her because they knelt to the man who had stolen her.

They waited patiently until they could see the boredom in the rider's eyes. Ygritte knocked an arrow and her men readied their own weapons. Her arrow sang and without a word, her companions unleashed death. Before the two poor sods realised what was happening, they were pelted with arrows and javelins. Two Wulls ran forwards and took hold of the horses. Another clansman grabbed his shovel and began to dig a shallow hole in the snow. It wasn't a proper burial, but it only had to make do for a few days. Lighting a pyre was out of the question, even if every bone in her body screamed that this was wrong, that the dead must be burned.

"You, you and you, return to the King and tell him about this camp," Ygritte barked, singling out the worst of her scouts. They were too loud and clumsy to be of any use, but compared to her, most were a rampaging herd of aurochs.

"Winterfell is not far from here," a Wull suggested, patting his new horse while the trio shuffled away, relief written on their faces. "We ought to take a look while we have the opportunity."

"You do that. I will cause a distraction here," the old Flint announced and grabbed one of the unlit torches he carried on his belt. He had seen many winters, his beard grey and skin crinkled.

"The camp is guarded too well, even if they haven't bothered with stakes," a man carrying the six thistles of Clan Norreys threw in.

"I will not see the next spring, so I might as well make the best out of it. And if I can burn a score of tents or two, that will be a mighty fine song."

"Aye, we shall sing in in Winterfell," a Liddle said and passed a sealed horn to the old chief. He drank half of the mead before giving it back, his eyes roaming over the camp to pick the best spot.

Just like the free folk had banded together under Mance, these men put their feuds aside and marched for House Stark. To avenge Jon's brothers, to repay the traitors. Ygritte had been surprised how deep their loyalty ran, how a land unfathomably large could be united by the fire of vengeance. It had taken the Others to do the same to the free folk. But the Starks had been their overlords for longer than she could comprehend, and they must have done something right that people were willing to die for them by the thousands.

It was a great legacy. One that she had to live up to now. All because her crow had been unable to kill her and later refused to set her aside, no matter how much the kneeler Lords begged him to.

And she had learned that mountain clans were not that different from the free folk after all. Jon had to convince the major chieftains in contests of arms or other skills, but all had been ready to march as soon as the contests were over. And no matter how much they hated _Wildlings_, she had always been welcomed just because Jon had stolen her.

The Flint had been especially strange, just using the custom as an excuse to feast Jon. His father's mother's mother had been an Arya Flint, and that meant that the difficult "challenge" to convince the Flints had been a drinking contest. The chieftain had retold tales of his clan's achievements and of great Starks, Jon greedily lapping up every word. Thinking back to that meeting, she began to march through the fresh snow, her men just one step behind her. She was a hunter and not a shieldmaiden, but she could still do her part.

Three hours later, the eastern sky lit up blue, with just a hint of orange, when they reached the edge of the forest. Before them, small farms and villages covered the lands, buried under the last summer snows. It was a frosty morning, yet one structure stood defiantly in the face of the cold. With two rings of walls and what had to be thousands of houses surrounding it, Winterfell dominated the landscape. But only after half an hour where they rushed through the twilight, snow crunching under their boots, Ygritte began to realise how huge the castle truly was. Last Hearth had been a mighty stronghold, but it was all but a tent compared to Winterfell. Even with the burns clearly visible, the fortress was simply majestic. Compared to the few Free Folk villages she had seen - she hadn't believed that men could build such a marvel.

"There are no men at the walls and just a pair at each gatehouse. The castle is ripe for taking," the son of the Liddle reported, looking for further weaknesses.

Ygritte eyed the walls of the famed castle. They looked formidable, but they were just rough stone, not smooth ice. And less than a hundred feet high. They were just supposed to scout ahead, but it would be possible -

"What are we waiting for then?"

* * *

The next time the Master of Whispers mentioned the North, more than a moon later, Tywin was very surprised by the content of the report, although no one could have told by looking at him. If not for the imminent Royal wedding and the need to reign the King in, he could have afforded to pay more attention to the wayward Kingdom.

"More troublesome news from the North. Jon Snow had raised a host of ten thousand and retaken Winterfell."

"How is this possible? Three weeks ago you said that he is gathering a host and now he has marched them 500 miles and won a siege?" Cersei Lannister demanded to know, her eyes dangerously narrowed. The Master of Whispers tried to explain himself, but was cut off by the third Lannister in the room.

"The North must have been raising new levies when Robb Stark was slain - With the losses we inflicted upon the Starks and the Ironborn at their shores, it would have been prudent to raise a second force, just as Steffron had attempted at Oxcross. And because the North is vast, information is hard to come by and often outdated or unreliable. By the time Varys received news about the army assembling, they might have been at the gates of Winterfell already," her brother pointed out. "What else do your little birds tell you?"

"The tale is a strange one, and I have heard at least five variations of it, yet they all agree on this. The boy was tasked to spy on the wildlings and took one of them as his mistress. They exchanged vows in front of a heart tree north of the wall and he chose to uphold those vows. The bastard King and, most curiously, his Wildling Queen. The Northern smallfolk believe it to be a legend of old returned to life."

"Pure superstition. And the North has been fighting wildlings since the dawn of time."

"Obviously my Lord Hand, but didn't the spectre of Renly Baratheon break Stannis' host beneath the walls?" Varys threw in before Tywin could say more about the chosen bride. "People believe what suits them, no matter how far-fetched. The boy has the might of his North behind him, simply because he is the last one who can claim a link to the Starks, even if he was born on the wrong side of the bed or has taken a wildling girl as his wife. And according to rumours, Robb Stark had his brother legitimised before he died."

"He can't legitimise anyone, that is my privilege," the King pointed out.

"It seems enough for the Lords of the North."

"They would rather follow the oath-breaking baseborn son of Ned Stark, who wed their mortal enemy, than Lord Bolton?" the Queen Regent asked sceptically. "Has the snow finally frozen their wits? They are defeated, and after my son marries the Tyrell girl, we will outnumber them six to one. They should be on their knees begging for forgiveness!"

"His bannermen rose as one to free the late Lord Eddard, despite his treason, and it seems as if this _loyalty_ lasts beyond the grave. Snow's host is now marching on Barrowtown, from where a raven was sent. They beseech the Crown for aid."

"Lord Bolton is the Warden of the North, he will deal with any Stark loyalists."

"Yes, my Queen mother. However, there are more peculiar rumours floating around for everyone who is willing to hear them."

"And what are those?" Lord Lannister asked dangerously.

"That the Dreadfort was taken, sacked and put to the torch. The smallfolk believe it to be a sign of divine favour, much like during a trial by combat."

"Lord Bolton will be less than pleased with this."

"Lord Bolton has joined the Young Wolf in losing the North. He is stuck at the gates of Moat Cailin. The crannogmen and, somehow, a few Mormont levies have taken the fortress from the Ironborn. They now hold it for the Stark pretender and have poisoned the wells along the King's Road. The army loyal to the Crown wastes away by the hundreds each day."

"Surly Lord Bolton has a plan for dealing with the ruin and a bunch of men smaller than most children," the King said in another attempt to get into the discussion which, so far, had completely flown past him.

"Oh, he did. He intended for his baseborn son to lead an army south to strike the weak northern fortifications of the Moat, reinforced by Houses Dustin and Ryswell. But if the Dreadfort was lost and the Stark Bastard is marching on Barrowtown, Bolton cannot unite his armies - "

"They will be defeated one by one. And if this army is scattered, they cannot take Moat Cailin from the north, which leaves Bolton on his own in the Neck."

"What about the Riverlands?"

"Houses Mallister and Blackwood are still in rebellion, but it is unlikely that Snow will care about them, much less be able to help them."

"Why wouldn't he? They are half his Kingdom?"

"Unlike his half-brother, Jon Snow has no claim to the Riverlands. And without Tully blood, they have no reason to follow him. They would probably be amenable to terms from you, your Grace, but they are dead-set against the Freys. Yet the Freys are also the reason that no Northern army will be able to enter the Riverlands."

"Lord Walder Frey is the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands," the Queen Regent pointed out with finality, mirroring what her son was thinking. "Either they submit to the representative of the Crown, or they will be branded as traitors!"

"Yet he lacks the strength to move against them. Lord Frey wrote that Mallister had no forces at the Twins and one son might not be enough leverage against them. Blackwood managed to break out and marched half of his men away in good order. I had Raventree Hall sacked, but it can be repaired in time to require a siege or a costly storm. With Stark and most of his host slain, the deadlock is broken, but it will take time to put the last remnants of their rebellion down. And Riverrun requires a proper army to invest since the Blackfish thinks his nephew dead, himself Lord and will, therefore, fight to the bitter end," Tywin Lannister summarized before his daughter could spread more of her _wisdom_. "And we cannot take Seagard until we have dealt with the Ironborn and Dragonstone. Seagard must be cut off by sea. The Lannister fleet could deal with Mallister's, but Lannisport's safety is paramount. I will not have a repeat of the last Greyjoy rebellion."

* * *

**AN:**

This continuation went through a few iterations before I settled on this, hence the long wait. Rather than just an "aftermath" chapter as originally planned, there will be 2 more (for a total of 4 chapters).

I had to add a month or two between the Red Wedding and rest of the canon plot, but it won't matter in the grand scheme of things.


	3. Chapter 3

Lord Manderly looked around the blackened Great Hall of Winterfell. Craftsmen had been toiling day and night, but progress was slow due to the extensive damage the fire had caused. And with winter almost upon them, there was no time for extensive renovations, so makeshift repairs would have to do until the next spring. Many familiar faces were missing, either dead or imprisoned at the Twins.

And yet, they had not been broken by the three treacheries. The Ironborn had been driven back into the sea, Ramsay Snow's head adorned the gatehouse and the Crannogmen had driven Bolton and Frey out of the Neck. For a fortnight, a mighty host of eight thousand swords had withered away while camped in the shadow of Moat Cailin before retreating, one in five left behind for the crows and lizard lions.

But their troubles were far from over. They were at war with 5 Kingdoms, their forces spent after dealing with the treacheries, their southern bulwark was in ruins and thousands of Wildlings besieged the Wall.

And speaking of them, Wildling blood was part of the Stark line after Bael the Bard, but Wyman had considered that little more than a legend from times long gone. Yet _Queen_ Ygritte sat next to the King, clad in white furs and with a dagger at her side. It was a sight unimaginable even three short years ago, but her unusual appearance was the least of their worries.

The Wildlings at the Wall were almost frantic with fear, thousands willing to bend the knee in exchange for some lands to settle each day. And there was only one threat dire enough to drive brave men that far.

It sounded so unbelievable, like in the tales children were told so that they behaved. Yet fantastic tales were one thing, Valyrian steel a very different one. Jeor Mormont would not have relinquished his ancestral sword to a green boy over nothing. The Mormonts did confirm the tale about dead men rising, as mad as it sounded. They even rejected their family's greatest treasure because it had been bestowed upon the lad for saving their former lord from walking corpses.

It could be a plot, a deception of the highest order, but what did the Mormonts gain? More importantly, what would the Starks gain? The King was secure, no self-respecting Northman would follow the Lannister pretender and her dwarfish husband, even if she was the child of Eddard Stark. No, as mad as it sounded, the return of the Others was the likely explanation.

Looking at the royal couple, Lord Manderly couldn't help but notice how different they looked compared to the Stark Lords he had known before. Rickard had tried to reenact the Southron Courts during his scheming, even if it had looked very out of place in Winterfell. Eddard, the Seven bless his soul, had been raised in the Vale and, unsurprisingly, copied what he had learnt at the knee of Lord Jon Arryn. But while he had risen to the occasion and Ned's reign had been prosperous, everything had gone south as soon as he went south. Catelyn Tully had been the one to spark the war for which the North had paid dearly. The Young Wolf had tried to right the wrongs and all he had gotten for his troubles was riddled by crossbows before Bolton had slit his throat.

In comparison to them all, it was the current King who was closest to his ancestors of times immemorial. To the Hungry Wolf or the Old Man of the North. Robb might have been the King of the North and the Trident, but his brother was the one hailed as King of Winter, like the Starks of old. A tall order, but the boy had already proven himself. And the epithet was fitting, and not only due to the worsening weather.

Despite all their differences, the two brothers had one thing in common. Both had married for love. But whilst most agreed that the Young Wolf lost the war in the bedchamber of the Craig, Queen Ygritte turned out to be full of surprises. It would have been impossible to find someone seemingly less capable. The wildling lass didn't know her letters or sigils, found courtesies as alien as castles, knew little of the North and nothing of the lands south of the Neck.

And yet, she had won the respect of the men when she joined their campaign. Not in the vanguard like the women from Bear Island, but in command of their scouts. Wyman was in no condition to see for himself, but rumours of the Wildling Queen had quickly spread throughout the North. In Taverns and Inns tales were told, of the Queen and the White Direwolf ambushing Boltons and Ironborn alike.

A few of the petty Lords were grumbling, but the smallfolk had quickly come to love the odd pair, and the recent wars had left few alive who could grumble.

Wyman himself had no reason to grumble. Obviously, it would have been preferable to have one of his granddaughters married into the Stark family, but given how besotted the King was with his Queen, that did not seem likely for the near future. And the Hornwood lands were compensation enough for his levies. More than enough, if he was honest with himself. He had already paid for grain shipments from the free cities to make sure he wasn't taking too much advantage from their new king.

Yet there was another consideration. Given that his younger was slain at the Twins and the elder taken prisoner before the Red Wedding and unlikely to be ever returned, Wynafryd was his heir and Wylla second in line. They had much to learn, things he had taught his sons, the sons he would never see again.

But he owed the Starks a debt which could never be repaid. White Harbour. Their lands. A thousand years of protection and prosperity. Umber, Mormont, Cerwyn, Hornwood, they all lost fathers and sons, even daughters in the recent war, and yet they stood behind the Starks. The letter from Lord Lannister weighed heavily upon him, but he would not betray his King, not even for his son. It would not do for him to stray now, not when everyone else remained true. Especially without a just cause.

Revenge was the cry, echoing up and down the kingdom. People were flocking to the colours, taking up arms under the crowned direwolf. Those who could be spared from their keeps and villages were drilled relentlessly. Men who owned horses were sent north to deal with the wildlings, others to Moat Cailin to man the ruined fortress which stood between them and the Iron Throne.

His Wylla had become the closest advisor to Queen Ygritte. Some of the court even referred to his granddaughter as Hand of the Queen, even if such an office didn't exist. She may be as brazen as the Greatjon after eight ales, but she had received an education befitting someone fourth in line to the richest lands in the North. Which made her valuable to a Queen who knew less than even a common hedge knight. From what he had heard, they had bonded like two squires would, talking about weapons and hunting while sharing mead and dried meat at a campfire.

* * *

Petitions were held and many chose that opportunity to lay their grievances before their king. It also meant that many who barely counted as nobles chose to make their voices heard. And quite often, they chose to display their lacking common sense rather than anything which would reflect positively upon them.

"Our best commanders and I have studied every possible stratagem, plot, plan and ploy, but we could not find even one that was likely to succeed," the King replied to a particularly stubborn request.

"So you want to abandon those who gave you your crown, your grace?"

"How should we help the Riverlands? The Neck is closed to everyone -"

"Seagard is a major port and we have a navy - "

"Our Navy is based on our eastern shore. In the west, we have ten ships larger than fishing boats, and seven of those are longboats we took from the Ironborn. Sailing our fleet to the west would take a year past Stannis, Joffrey, Dorne, the Reach, the Lannisters and the Ironborn. Out of forty, we would be lucky if a single galley made it to Seagard," Wylla interrupted, talking down the heir of Lightfoot. "Of course, we could arrange for you to lead this fleet my Lord, but if you have a death wish, there are easier ways to take your life."

"We could take the King's Road south and then swing around the Trident, but forcing the Neck would cost hundreds due to the measures Lord Reed took to drive the Boltons south. And once we made it to the Riverlands, we would be completely exposed and without supplies," the King pointed out with more tact.

"What about aid from the Riverlands?"

"There's nothing left. At least one, often two harvests were lost. The smallfolk are already starving and they need to prepare for another siege," a knight in the service of House Cerwyn said. The man had lost a foot at the Red Fork, but still vividly remembered his time in the Riverlands. "The lands are barren, the men who worked the field lay dead on them."

"We can barely scrape together twenty thousand. White Harbour can call another five thousand to man her walls, but those men cannot move far in a campaign. Anyone else is needed in the fleet or Bolton could simply sail his men up the Weeping Water to the Dreadfort," Lord Manderly added. They had more than enough to worry about without fantastic campaigns In the Riverlands.

"Are we so weak that we give up without a fight?" demanded a Wull defiantly.

"We can match what is left of the Lannisters, so much is true. But with the royal wedding imminent, the Tyrells are likely to become our enemies. And even after their losses at Storm's End and the Blackwater, they can still muster four times our number," the King summarized the extent of their troubles.

"We must face the truth, the Vale has abandoned us. Lord Jon Arryn rose for good Lord Eddard against the Mad King, but neither his heir nor his wife have a shred of his honour," Lady Cerwyn added. "The Neck is our shield, my Lords, the bulwark which protects us from the South. It cannot protect us if we move past it. Let the Southrons throw themselves against its walls like the Andals. We will endure, and then we'll sail to their lands and raze their keeps."

"Aye, Lady Jonelle speaks true. I would love nothing more than burn the Twins and repay the Freys' treachery in blood. But with Winter at the gates, it is time to lick our wounds. Don't think that we have forgotten, the North remembers betrayal eternally, but the time for revenge is spring, not the last days of autumn."

"Even if we had a force on each bank of the Green Fork, laying siege to the Twins would get our prisoners hanged before we could invest the traitors," Wyman added before another round of pointless debate could follow. Yet it was not the end of the talking since the heir of House Lake was looking for an opportunity to distinguish himself after missing out on the disastrous campaign in the Riverlands.

"We might be unable to punish the Freys, but the Karstarks are also traitors."

"From my understanding, the succession of Karhold is complicated and it is to be expected that they might need some time to get their affairs in order. However, should they refuse when I call the banners, their lands will be reduced. Many sons of the North are due a reward for their leal service."

That, Manderly judged, was well done by the King. He threatened punishment, offered rewards for those true to him, but he also offered the Karstarks a way to save face and come back into the fold. He did not mention the Wildings which needed to be settled after their submission nor the other enemy, the one which would require every sword and spear in the North but had not yet made it into the thick heads of some Lords.

* * *

"And I am telling you, your Grace, that the North will not bend the knee to you. You abandoned your brother, left our liege to die in King's Landing, you did not come to our aid when our men were fighting and dying in the Riverlands, you did not drive the Ironborn from our land and by the time you arrived at the Wall, I had negotiated an accord with the Free Folk," Karsi Umber repeated once again. It was as if she was talking to a child, although not even her son had been this stubborn. If Stannis Baratheon was truly best claimant to the Iron Throne, the kingdoms south of the Neck were doomed.

She had arrived at Castle Black when the Wildlings were about to overrun the defenders. Her uncle Mors was in command of the 500 men at arms who escorted her and another 500 from the mountain clans and had spent their lives fighting Wildlings. Raised for the war in the Riverlands and trained in the face of the Ironborn invasion, they had been superior to the pitiful remnants of the Night's Watch and enough to bring the Wildlings to terms. The Watch had been in a bad shape after their failed ranging, but few Wildlings had been willing to throw themselves into a well-drilled wall of sturdy spears at the end of a long, narrow tunnel. Or climb seven-hundred feet of ice only to meet the axe waiting for them.

And Mance Rayder apparently remembered enough of his upbringing to know what the crowned direwolf, unchained giant and dozens of other banners meant. Not that those houses had contributed more than a score of men, but their ruse had worked. After all, bending the knee was a small price to pay when one was harassed by the living dead.

"This is getting us nowhere. You will threaten war, I will point out that your force of Knights is unsuited to even take my home, not to mention Winterfell or that your horses will starve before you even reach Last Hearth. You will point out the righteousness of your cause, I would point out the Mountain Clans which would threaten your flanks and rear if you were to march down the Kingsroad."

"You dare to address the Azor Ahai like - "

"This is not some mystical figure, but the brother of our late King Robert - " Karsi pointed out, annoyed at the guard who had opened his mouth. Not that there was the need for guards, she was already more grey than brown and the small room had been carefully prepared by the Night's Watch, but maybe this was one of those southern things she didn't quite understand.

"Your King? Make up your mind, woman! Either Robert was your King and therefore so am I, or Robert was not your King since you obviously deny his rightful succession."

"A King has obligations, Lord Stannis, and you cannot claim to be one when your first act was the defilement of the Old Gods and the New. You broke the covenant between liege and bannerman. And thus, as with the Mad King before your brother, we owe you no fealty."

"You dare?"

"Yes, I dare. You even followed Aerys' footsteps when you chose fire as your champion. I bet he would have loved a flaming sigil as well."

"I will not be spoken to in this manner!"

"You expect respect when you have earned none. Where were you when the Lannisters imprisoned my liege?" the Umber woman sneered.

"I had to get out of King's Landing. My life was at stake - "

"So was Ned's, and yet he stayed and did his duty!"

"I had no choice - "

"And that belief is the reason why no one in the North will have you as their King. You speak of duty yet avoid all of yours."

"You speak of duty and responsibility, yet your King broke the words he said in front of his Gods, and he did so for a wildling. That is the reason why you are here, the Night's Watch would have his head for desertion. I answered their call to arms, and I am the only one who came to their aid - "

Stannis would have gone on for a while longer, Karsi figured but it would only be useless wind which came from his mouth.

"And my levies are just manservants?"

"Your late _King_ ignored the pleas for help on his northern border -"

"Because he was fighting a war in Westerlands before he was betrayed time and time again. He fought for justice while you used your witch to murder your own brother!"

_Sadly, it was going to be another long day. _

* * *

**AN: **

Beta'ed by LifeEquals42.

White Harbour is pretty overpowered in canon. Depending on the size of the ships, just their fleet expansion required between 2300 and 4600 men for those 23 new Galleys Davos saw, on top of all ships, commercial and military, they already have, the ~2000 men who went south with Robb, the city watch and the land forces we see dealing with the Freys.

And I know that in canon, Manderly did not openly declare for the Starks since he wanted his son back, but there was no alternative to the Boltons at that time. In this timeline, Jon is there to pick up the Stark torch a few days after news of the Red Wedding reached the North. Therefore, Manderly cannot wait or he will be seen as a traitor. Likewise, there is no Umber intrigue.

As for the Wildlings, here submission is without alternative. Even if they choose to go for the Stannis option, they would be met by a hostile North which would steamroll them with ease since they know nothing of infantry tactics and their weapons are inferior to most peasant mobs (who would at least have the odd steel tool rather than bone weapons).

There will be one more chapter, which will be from Jon's PoV.


End file.
